


Bright Stars

by Abigailhobbscentric



Series: Bright Stars [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Abigail is a brilliant young woman, Abigail is in love, Aftercare, Aftermath of Violence, Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Animal Abuse, Arranged Marriage, Attempted Sexual Assault, Cunnilingus, Daddy Hannibal, Dark Abigail Hobbs, Domestic Fluff, Dominant Hannibal, F/M, First Time, Fluff, Forced Marriage, Hannibal is Hannibal, Hannibal is a Cannibal, Hannibal is a Tease, Hannibal is not the culprit of anything here, I age Abigail up so there's nothing to be alarmed about her age, Manipulative Hannibal, No Underage Sex, Older Man/Younger Woman, Possessive Hannibal, Sensory Deprivation, Sort Of, There will be smuts, Unconsummated Marriage, but it is such a surprise?, eyes closed during sex, fractured tunica albuginea
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-09
Updated: 2017-11-01
Packaged: 2018-12-25 18:09:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12041382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abigailhobbscentric/pseuds/Abigailhobbscentric
Summary: Abigail was only a 17-year-old when her father suddenly gave her away to a stranger and severed all the ties with her. She was frightened, traumatized by the betrayal but her new husband Dr. Lector helped her through it. A perfect gentleman he is, and as a husband in name only, he makes sure she’s comfortable, looked after and provides for her higher education. Abigail is now 22 years old, a biochemistry and pre-med graduate, and has been hopelessly in love with her husband for some times. But despite her subtle efforts to be closer to him, the good doctor seems to be oblivious to her growing affection.Smuts start in chapter 6. I expect a lot of them but I don't write smut for smut's sake~





	1. The Exercise: Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is only the prologue, hasn't touched the main story yet. In this AU Abigail is aged down when she starts to be her father's 'bait'. 
> 
> No beta-read. And English isn't my first language. 
> 
> So...please don't be too offended by my spelling and grammatic mistakes. I also in dire need of a beta because there will be chapters to come. So, if you find this story ok, please give me a message.

She learns what is fear staring at the bright stars. When her father yet again leaves her alone in the empty house and forbids her to ask any questions.

 

It isn’t the lonely night that scares her. Abigail Hobbs isn’t afraid of the dark. She has long been used to the empty rooms and cracking sounds made by the chilly winds outside. Ever since her mother died of that God Damned hit-and-run (Drunk-driving. Can you believe it?), she has become familiar with being alone. Her father needs to work and she is old enough to stay at home by herself. So, no. It isn’t the dark night or the whizzing winds that scare her. It is the stars.

 

Her fear comes with a slow, burning pain when she realizes her father has yet again claimed to go to a friend’s house the day after he had her talk to a girl in the mall. An exercise to overcome her timidity, he says. ‘Your mommy would approve this, too.’ He gives her hand a gentle squeeze the first time he has her talk to a strange girl in a park. It is on her fifteenth birthday. ‘She always wanted you to be more sociable, Abby. You spend too much time on your books and drawings.’ And with that, they start a routine. They go to a random place. (Parks. Shopping malls. Grocery stores. Then later college campuses.) And then dad will point a stranger (always a girl in her age. She realizes this not long after.) She’ll need to go forward and talk.

 

In the beginning, Abigail hates it. She doesn’t understand why her father insists on the pointless exercise. She never needs it before.

 

Yet as time goes by, a few months later she seems to be more comfortable and confident starting conversations with those strange girls. And as it turns out, it helps her get along with other kids at school better.

 

It feels good, to be able to make friends on her own terms.

 

But there's something off.

 

Daddy seems to be proud of her when she tells him about the new friends she makes. But despite her progress, he still insists on their weekend exercises. At first, they only do it once a few weeks. After her high school principal informs her dad that the school recommends Abigail to apply for colleges a year earlier, it becomes a weekly thing to them.

 

And then one day, a somehow familiar name catches Abigail’s attention during an Amber Alert broadcast on the local radio.

 

A name which she coaxes out of an exceptionally shy girl three weeks earlier outside a ballet school. They have hot chocolate together. And now that girl is missing.

 

She doesn't know what to think. Her dad isn’t home with her.

 

Two weeks later, another amber alert is issued.

 

This time, it is a name she picks up a month earlier in another town’s park.

 

Her dad isn’t home with her either.

 

And that night, after a week of precious normalcy, she is outside the house looking at the stars when another alert comes from the radio.

 

Abigail doesn't make a sound. The wind makes the hair on the back of her neck stand up, freezing her body.

 

She isn’t cold.

 

She looks at the stars.


	2. Six Years Later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abigail has become an accomplished young woman under Hannibal's care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still desperately asking for a beta. So if you want to help, please message me from tumblr. My url is https://abigailhobbscentric.tumblr.com/

Stepping down from the stage, listening to the cheers and cries made by her classmates, Abigail Lecter smiles, as she carefully tucks the draft of her valedictory speech into the pocket. Raising her hands to take off the ill-fitted graduation cap on her head, she chuckles while others begin to throw their caps into the air. The rainfall of the dark caps hits her, as she trots through the crowds to the man standing at the other end of the ceremonial hall. One of her classmates wants to hug her on the way. She stops briefly to hug him back, while the feeling of her husband’s gaze attached to her face like a film of unfamiliar facial cream.

‘Brilliant speech, Abigail.’ Hannibal says to her. Abigail feels her cheeks blushing, embarrassed by his compliment and gentle smile. She can never look at his face too long when he smiles like that, warmly and genuinely. The kind of smile she knows he rarely shows to the world.

‘Thank you. I was so nervous when I started but -’

‘Once you start, you start. It was very nicely done, my dear. You should be proud of yourself.’ He chuckles, holding out an arm for her to take. Abigail feels the butterflies in her stomach stirring when she lifts her arm to take it. She is so happy that he’s willing to be seen walking with her in public. This is a very new development between them, she notes. There was a time she doesn’t know how to behave around him when they are out of the house. But those days belong to the past now.

‘Are you sure you don’t want to stay longer with your friends? I can always wait or go home earlier. This is your day, Abigail.’ Hannibal says, as they slowly walk past a group of young girls who are taking selfies. None of them seem to notice them leaving. We must look like father and daughter to them, Abigail thinks.

‘No, I’m good.’ She shakes her head, looking up at Hannibal’s perfectly groomed face. She feels light-headed talking beside him holding his arm. The thrill of delivering the speech still makes her a little bit dazed. The noise of the cheering campus has become more and more unbearable.

‘Can we go home? I’m tired. I was too nervous of the speech. Didn’t sleep well last night.’

‘Of course.’ Hannibal patted her arm, as he leans towards her and places a kiss her hair. Abigail tenses up, suddenly worrying about he might smell something unpleasant on her with that sharp nose. She sweated a little when she was giving the speech.

But no. Hannibal merely places his cheek against her head and kisses the air nearby. Just like he kisses her every morning before she goes out to start the day. 

They stay quiet during most of the drive. Abigail sits on the passenger seat, looking directly at the reflection of Hannibal’s stoic face, as the flows of Debussy’s Deux Arabesques filling the space. Relaxing into the comfortable cushion, Abigail begins to feel embarrassed again once she realizes that Hannibal picks out the piano pieces because he knows it will relax her. Usually, he isn’t a big fan of the Impressionists. Classical and romantic are more to his taste. 

‘What have you been thinking, Abigail?’ Hannibal asks, looking at her for a moment before the car begins to move again. ‘You seem out of sort. Is there anything wrong?’

‘No. Nothing’s wrong, Hannibal.’ How can it be? ‘I’m just…’ I’m just wondering why you are so kind to me, she says in her mind, closing her eyes. It is the very question she has been kept asking for the past five years, ever since she learned from her father that the man dressed in the three pieces suit - that was the first time she saw anyone wearing this kind of clothing apart from on the television - was going to be her husband. She remembers that day back in Minnesota before they went to stand in the court, Hannibal approached her with the most serious look she had ever seen on a man when they spoke to her and promised her from then on he’d do his best to provide for her. Anything she needed, she just had to name it.

‘My teachers said I’m already ready to go to college.’ She recalls what she responded while staring at her own shoes with a meek voice. She had forbidden herself to think of anything remotely related to college since her dad pulled her out of school a month ago, despite the fact that she had started to attend the SAT prep courses. Since that day, she was told to stay in the house, only allowed going out with her dad. 

‘There’re a few good universities near the town I live.’ Abigail remembers he said. These words were all she was thinking about when she stood in front of the judge and blurted out ‘Yes, I do.’ 

She only began to concern about the reality of being married to a strange man when she saw the big house for the first time from the window of Hannibal’s car.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

‘Abigail?’ 

‘Abigail.’ A gentle touch on her shoulder makes Abigail jerk up, pulling the seatbelt, as she almost knocks her knees on the glove box. Rubbing her face with her cold hands, she blinks, realizing they are sitting in the car inside the garage. 

‘You fell asleep in the last two minutes of the drive,’ Hannibal smiles. ‘You should take a bath then nap before dinner. There’s plenty of time, my dear.’

‘I’m sorry,’ she murmurs, still feeling hazy. Her eyelids are heavy. Before she can unfasten her seatbelt she notices Hannibal has already left the driver seat, collecting their articles from the backseat and opening the car door for her. She flusters, stepping out of the car, looking into him.

‘Can I help you in the kitchen?’ asks she. ‘I can-’

‘No, darling.’ Hannibal cuts her off with a laugh. ‘That may ruin the surprise. I promised a treat you deserve, remember?’

‘Yes, you did,’ she answers, feeling her body begins to warm up. ‘Why are you so kind to me?’ She hears herself asks.

‘Because I am.’ With that, he leads her through the entrance. Abigail follows, staring at the back of his head. Hannibal stops in front of the stairway, gesturing her to go upstair. ‘I’ll see you in four hours. Don’t come down here before eight o’clock. Is that clear?’ He grins at her. Abigail can hear blood rushes in her ear.

‘Yes, Hannibal.’ 

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Wrapping herself in the soft material of the ivory-colored bathrobe, Abigail signs in delight, as she leaves the bathroom and smells the scent of pastry coming from the kitchen downstair. Hot butter and caramel. What is he making, exactly? It must be something she hasn't seen before because she cannot recall anything that can smell to rich ever coming from her Hannibal’s kitchen. He is determined to indulge her tonight, it seems. 

Tossing herself onto the bouncy single mattress, she rolls to look to the window. She remembers the first time she sees this room. The first thing Hannibal had her do when he brought her to this house was opening up all the spare rooms on the second floor and ask her to pick one.

‘I think it’s important for you to have your own bedroom.’ He explained to her that day. ‘I’m aware that this arrangement isn’t what you’d asked for. But I still hope you can be comfortable living here with me, Abigail’ 

Abigail. 

He even said her name differently. 

She could have fallen in love with him there and then. But it didn’t happen. 

In fact, Abigail Lecter cannot remember exactly which moment that she fell in love with her husband. It certainly wasn't during the nights he stayed up with her in the living room because she was haunted by nightmares. She told him about her parents. About how she had missed her mother. And how she was hurt that her father decided to give her away. She was grateful that Hannibal was willing to listen to all that and giving her helpful advice. But it was only when she began to trust him.

It wasn’t that day either when he handed her his car key and began to teach her how to drive every morning before he went to work. Nor was the day immediately after she got her driver’s license - her first proper ID, with the name Abigail Lecter printed on it - that he took her to pick out her own car. It was only when her nightmares began to fade when she finally settled into the new living pattern. 

It also wasn’t the day when he told her that he had talked a private high school in the neighborhood so that she may start anytime she wanted. (' _You should take the rings off if it makes you more comfortable going back to school.'_ ) And it probably wasn't the morning she saw him packing her school lunch into a brown paper bag on the kitchen counter. He had been most particular in separating the ingredients. ( _'Or it may spoil the flavors.'_ ) Abigail found it hilarious. 

It was probably when he started interviewing private tutors to help with her SAT preparation. Or maybe the day she asked him to look over her thesis written for the college application. Abigail never tells anyone. But when she was applying for colleges, all she had in mind was that she didn’t want to move out. Hannibal spoke highly of John Hopkins. But Abigail was happy to stay in Baltimore. She had grown attached to the town after living here for a year. Hannibal introduced her to his associates in the cultural art circles. Concerts, operas, and private recitals. He even bought her a grand piano when he learned that one of her childhood dreams was to learn to play the instrument. She still remembers the first time he played for her - _Schubert/Liszt’s Auf dem Wasser zu singen_. She blushed terribly when he looked up from the keyboard and smiled.

That was the summer before her first year in the university. Exactly four years from now.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Sitting in front of the piano, Abigail adjusting hem of her scarlet silk dress. Now fully rested and dressed, she looks at the clock in front of the instrument. Ten minutes to eight o’clock. The noise from the kitchen and the dining room has already gone quiet for a few minutes. She knows Hannibal must have already finished cooking. She wants to go downstairs and help. But she also knows Hannibal won’t allow her to. So, she decides to make some noise herself.

Placing her hands on the keyboard, she looks at the sheet music before her. It is Jeux d’eau by Ravel. Another impressionist piece Hannibal once commented that he can only ‘occasionally enjoy’. Which, as Abigail knows it, means that he only tolerates it because she loves it.

She grins as the music flows under her fingers, fails to notice Hannibal is watching her by the entrance while she plays with the bouncy notes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://abigailhobbscentric.tumblr.com/


	3. Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abigail reveals how she feels about Hannibal to her friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> non beta read, as always. Please bare with my mistake.

‘He made you… _what_?’ Marissa Schurr covers her mouth to withhold a surprised laugh. Abigail rolls her eyes, quickly taking away her notebook which contains the colored sketches of Hannibal’s five courses Symbolism-themed dinner he made her yesterday evening. She managed to draw them down by memory before going to bed - Hannibal doesn’t appreciate camera phone on the dinner table. Marissa protests as the pages being taken away, trying to snatch the notebook back.

‘Hey! Wait! Let me take a picture!’

‘No!’ Abigail chides, shoving the little book back into her purse. ‘It’s private. I shouldn’t have shown you in the first place. Hannibal isn’t going to apprie-’

‘Why not? Unbearably romantic aside…That is one of the most brilliant things I’ve seen. You said it was food and brushwork blending together? Jesus! Why can’t I find a man who can do that for me?’

Abigail sighs as she leans back against her chair, taking in the scented air of the garden cafe they are sitting in. 

‘I didn’t _find_ him…’ she says, raising her hand to touch her forehead. Marissa is a good friend. One of the few people who know of her marital status and never expresses the slightest hint of judgment. She can also be discreet and supportive. But after a few failed relationships through the college years and a rather disastrous breakup recently, she has become a little bit touchy when it comes to the subject of _men_. 

‘That makes you even luckier.’ The girl giggles, taking a large mouthful of the buttery honey pancakes from her plate. ‘You sure you don’t want a bite? You are allowed to eat outside, right? Of course, you are. I’m just kidding.’ She makes a face.

‘I told you I’d already eaten.’Abigail takes a sip of her coffee. ‘Can’t have breakfast and brunch in the same morning, can I?’

‘But we arranged to have brunch today!’

‘Yeah…I’m sorry, alright? But it’s just…it wasn’t right to turn down already-made breakfast-’

‘Don’t worry.’ Marissa grins at her. ‘ I understand. A man makes you breakfast the morning after is the best. Never turn it down for the sake of brunch with a girlfriend.’

Abigail finds herself suddenly pause and gape. Her mug of coffee still clenched safely between her fingers. She blinks for a few times before she hears herself mutters…

‘What?’ A single syllabus immediately stops her friend from chewing.

‘Oh…no! I’m sorry, Abigail.’ Marissa put down her fork, wiping her mouth with the napkin. ‘It was just kinda…blabbed out! I didn’t mean to-’

‘It’s okay.’ Abigail says, looking at her friend’s sorry expression. This is one of the rare occasion Marissa ever comments on Abigail’s private life. The last time they had talked about this was way back in their freshman year when Marissa decided to lose her virginity to her then-boyfriend. She came to Abigail - a married friend - for advice. But only found out Abigail had no experience to offer. Since then, they seemed to reach an agreement not to broach this topic unless Abigail bringing it up.

‘It’s not.’ Marissa hisses as she lowers her voice. She only lowers her voice when she wants to offer comfort. Abigail looks away, trying not to show too much emotion in public while Marissa squeezes her hand, prying the coffer away from her fingers and placing it on the table. Abigail doesn’t react. She stares at the coffee table.

‘So…um…’ Marissa starts, meeting Abigail’s eyes as she reaches to grab her hands. “So, after four years…’

‘Five.’ Abigail says.

‘So, after five years living together, Dr. Lecter hasn’t…’

‘Nope.’ Abigail pouts with the letter P. A frustrated smile appears on the corner of her mouth.

‘But he made you dinner.’ Marissa smiles to her. Abigail squeezes her hand back.

‘And breakfast.’ Abigail adds. 

‘God knows what else he made you…’ Her girlfriend smiles broader.

‘More than I could ever ask for.’ Abigail lowers her face.

‘Abigail…’

‘I don't know, Marissa, I honestly don’t understand…’ She notices her voice has become a little bit coarse. So she pauses and swallows before she continues. 

‘Sometimes I wonder what’s my purpose in that house when we stay in the same room ignoring each other. Sometimes I think he’s waiting for me to say that I want to leave. But the next morning…He’ll lay out another kind of breakfast set I’d never seen and ask if I want to go to some events with him. And you know what? I know for a fact that he picks some of the events because he knows I like them. Like some of the gallery opening things…I know he can’t stand them but still-’

‘Well, that sounds like love to me.’ Marissa says. ‘If he doesn’t care, then why all the troubles?’

‘Yeah?’ Abigail throws her head back to see into the cloudless sky. ‘Have I told you he kisses me like a father would? On my head and his lips only touches the air?’

‘No.’ says Marissa. ‘You barely tell me this kind of things.’

‘That’s because I try not to think about it.’ Abigail shakes her head. ‘Right! I’m done talking about it.’ Slapping her hands onto her own tighs, Abigail gives her friend a joking glare. ‘Finish your food ASAP so we can go…Where are we going today? You didn’t tell me when we made the call.’

Marissa let out a laugh as she returns to her plate. ‘Oh, you know me. Nothing new, really. Same old craft supply place in the town…I just made a bigger cage for the birds and I have a few new ideasfor the rotating ladders-’

‘The bird thing, again?’ Abigail can’t help but exclaim. But she’s hardly surprised by Marissa’s plan. If anything Marissa Schurr the graphic designer loves more than PlayStation and Stream, it’ll be her five parakeets.

’How many new toys and cages your budgies need? Ugh, never mind. Why do they need another cage anyway? You never lock them up.’

‘Oh, shut up!’ Marissa’s knife scratches the bottom of the plate. ‘Like you’re the one to talk. You bought toys for them on _my_ birthday.’

‘But you loved the toys.’

‘And you them.’ She grins at Abigail. ‘Will you drive me there or not?’

‘Fine.’

 

 

When Abigail finally drives her car into the garage, the first thing she sees is Hannibal standing by the doorway to the house. He hasn’t taken off his waistcoat but she notices his tie is taken off. It means he has already prepared to call it the night. A surge of guilt gathers under her throat. She rarely has Hannibal wait for her like this.

‘How’s your day?’ asks Hannibal, reaching out to take her jacket and purse for her. Abigail gives out a long breath. She is exhausted. But seeing her good doctor makes her heart lighten up.

‘Long story,’ she says. ‘It was good until it wasn’t. Which part do you want to hear first?’ Smiling weakly, she follows Hannibal into the house. They stop by the door of the kitchen.

‘Let’s start with the part that’s already at the tip of your tongue. Have you eaten?’

‘Does half a bucket of ice-cream count as eaten?’

Hannibal turns and frowns at her.

‘What happened?’ He asks, switching on the kitchen light while Abigail stalks in to get herself some water. She gulps down the first half of the glass before she looks up.

‘Well, we went shopping craft sticks for Marissa’s pet project. And then we went to her apartment.’ Abigail swallows, beginning to feel the weight of the day slowly sinking onto her shoulders. She is so tired. The cool water filling her stomach only makes her eyelids feel heavier.

‘We went to her apartment. Only to find out that her ex broke in there and stole two of her budgies. Marissa _loves_ her budgies. So, she went absolutely nuts-’

‘Did she report it?’ Hannibal asks, taking away the half-empty water glass from her to pour her a glass of wine. Abigail sighs as she sips at the sweet liquid, letting the gentle burn on her tongue calm her down.

‘Yeah. I drove her to the police station. But the police said they couldn’t do much about it. The guy got into her place with his own key. Apparently, Marissa forgot to change the lock after she kicked him out. She was furious when she heard this though…’

‘Sounds rather unwise.’ Hannibal comments. 

‘I had to drag her out of the police station before they arrested her.’ Abigail blinks blankly at her glass of wine, downing it entirely then reaching to grab the wine bottle. Hannibal seizes her wrist and gives her a squeeze. 

‘No more, Abigail,’ he says. 

‘You’re right,’ she mutters, rubbing her face to withhold a yawn. ‘God…I’m so tired.’

‘Must be a frustrating day. How was Marissa when you left her?’

‘Upset.’ Abigail answers, watching Hannibal putting the two glasses into the sink and turning on the water. She recalls what Marissa said about Hannibal earlier in the cafe. 

’She tried to call her ex non-stop but he must have blocked her number. She used my phone to call him but he didn’t answer. To be honest, I don’t think she’ll see her birds again. Those two budgies can be sold up to two hundred bucks each online.’

‘So, this is about money?’ Her husband tilts his head and asks, now putting away the glasses. Abigail simply shrugs. They leave the kitchen and go upstairs. Abigail collapse onto the love seat once she sets her eyes upon it, stretching her legs.

‘I don’t think so,' she mutters, taking over her jacket and her purse from Hannibal. 'She has more valuable things in her place like the MAC or PlayStation. But her ex only took two of her birds. The two more valuable ones out of the five, yes. But he did it to spike her,’ she says while looking at the ceiling.

‘Distasteful.’ Hannibal marks.

‘And petty.’ Abigail adds. They smile at each other then Hannibal sits down beside her. Abigail senses her neck warming up. _It must be the wine_ , she thinks.

‘I hope Miss Schurr has already changed her lock,’ his voice is as gentle as a whisper. Abigail places her head on the back of the chair.

‘I saw to it before I came back. That’s why I’m so late,’ she whispers, breathing in the Hannibal’s faded aftershave. The fragrance is almost gone now, replaced by his own warm scent. It’s not the kind of thing she’s able to smell every day. 

The back of her eyes feels burning. She shouldn’t have taken the wine.

‘Hannibal,’ softly, she calls him as she carefully turns her head on the back of the seat to look at him. His face meets hers only inches away, leaning on the cushioned chair. His eyes look darker than usual. Is he blushing as well? 

‘Yes?’ she can feel the air breathing to her face with his word.

‘Can I…’ Abigail breathes in. Her heart pounds violently with each syllabus coming out of her lips. ‘Can I stay wi-’

Suddenly, her phone rings.


	4. Birds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abigail gets herself in trouble.

Abigail jumps upon hearing her text alert. Picking up her phone, Marissa’s face appears on her notification bar. It reads:

_-Are you in bed? Can I call you now?_

Confused and slightly annoyed, Abigail groans and palming her face. Hannibal seems to make a chuckle. He pats on her head. Then another text chins in.

_-He sent me this (Loading a photo of two birds huddling together in a takeaway box)_

_-Told me to meet him in town after his shift. 3.30 am._

Abigail stares at the text. 

‘Is everything alright?’ Hannibal quietly asks. Abigail looks up at him and shakes her head raising the phone up to her ear as the call dials.

Marissa picks up immediately.

‘Abi-’

‘Don’t go there.’

‘But-’

‘Nobody _talks_ three in the morning. Don’t play his game. Stay at home!’

Marissa doesn’t make a sound.

‘Are you listening? Marissa!’

‘Yes.’

‘You know he’s up to no good. Don’t fall for it.’

‘Right.’ Marissa’s voice sounds very unconvincing. Abigail tightens her jaw. She knows Marissa would literally do _anything_ to get her birds back. (‘ _They are my babies!_ ’) Even if it means going out three in the morning to meet with a lying, vindictive piece of shit like her ex.

‘Does Marissa need help?’ asks Hannibal. Abigail turns, blinking at him, standing up as she makes up her mind. 

‘Okay. I’m coming to you, Marissa.’ Hannibal casts her a questioning look at the exact same moment with Marissa’s surprising call.

‘What?’

‘I’ll chain myself to you if that means stopping you from being hurt.’

That does it. Abigail hears Marissa begin to settle down on the other end of the call.

‘No. You don’t need to come.’ Her voice is cracking. And there’s a series of beeps. Abigail feels her heart speed with rage. That bastard is still texting to Marissa. But Marissa seems to stop panting. 

‘I’m not going, Abi. I…I just really need someone to stop me.’ Now she’s crying. Abigail knows even if she tries to hide.

‘Mari…’

‘I’m not going to see them again, am I?’ Pitiful, desperate, and despite Abigail doesn’t want to say that about her friend, _pathetic_. That’s what Marissa’s voice sounds like.

‘Try to get some sleep, Marissa. If you can, turn off your phone.’

‘Thank you, Abi. You go to bed, too.’

Putting down the phone, Abigail rubs her face, sensing Hannibal standing up from the love seat.

‘Wise call,’ he says. ‘You handled it well, Abigail. I’m proud of you.’

‘Did I?’ Abigail answers with a weak groan. ‘I feel terrible. The birds are like her kids but I told her not to do anything.’

‘Your options are very limited,’ gently, he squeezes on her shoulder. Abigail lowers her head. The sense of helplessness seems to finally get the better of her.

‘I’m tired,’ she mutters. Her eyes can barely stay open.

‘Then go to bed, my darling,’placing a kiss on her hair, Hannibal begins to walk her towards her bedroom. ‘Sleep. You may go to check on your friend in the morning.’ 

‘Are we supposed to look over my job applications tomorrow?’ Abigail whispers as they approaching her room. Her hazy mind weakly taking in the scent on Hannibal’s dress shirt. Oh, how she wants to just melt into his arms and disappear. If only it’s possible.

‘We’ll talk tomorrow. Good night, Abigail.’ 

She remembers closing the door, wondering if Hannibal would refuse if she asks him to stay. She remembers staring as he turns and retires into his own room. Abigail waits until she can hear nothing in the house before she begins to change. She doesn't remember falling into bed and passing out. The last thing she recalls as her conciseness fades away, it that how strange it is for her, for the past five years marrying to Hannibal, that there isn’t a single time she has ever been unhappy when she’s around him. 

 

 

_‘There’s a first time for everything,’_ is all Abigail has in mind when she stands in the police station, watching Hannibal flicking the small flashlight he just pulled out from his pocket in front of Marissa’s swelling eyes to examine her head trauma. It is now almost dawn. She should be feeling weak and exhausted but the event of the night still has her system filled with adrenaline. The lawyer Hannibal had summoned in is talking non-stop next to her. But Abigail only listening half-mindedly. All she can think of at the moment is that how badly injured Marissa look in the intense light of the police shop. And how stupid she is for not noticing it in the first place. 

_But why didn’t I see?_ Abigail wonders as Hannibal now asking Marissa to raise her arms and hold them up there while she can’t keep her hands steady even if she tries. Marissa seemed to be _fine_ when Abigail rushed to her just in time right after her ex knocked her to the pavement while numbers of other men watching. 

_‘I tried to get him off her,’_ she had told the police and Hannibal’s lawyers over and over about what had happened. 

‘ _I got a call from Marissa in the middle of the night. She was apologizing.’_

_‘ She said she had to go to get her birds. I just wanted to stop her. But when I got there she was being pushed to the ground. He was onto her and hitting her. I wanted him to stop.’_

But no matter how she tried to explain, the situation she has to deal with now is that Marissa’s ex is in the hospital after Abigail attacked him with pepper spray and a harsh kick to the groin. And now the man who had been tormenting Marissa - by bombarding her with texts and photos of him torturing her birds - into going to him and being beaten up is having a _fractured tunica albuginea,_ determining to charge Abigail with aggravated assault.

‘She needs to be hospitalized.’ Hannibal’s calm voice pulls her back to the presence. To her right, the lawyer - Abigail still hasn’t picked up his name - is still talking to her about the conditions of her police bail. Abigail blinks to the meticulously dressed man. It’s not that often she sees a man out-dressed Hannibal. But then Hannibal is only donned in his casual wear because he had to run here after Marissa told him Abigail’s arrest.

‘No…’Marissa’s uneven voice cracks as she protests. ‘I have to go home. I need to take the birds to the vet,’ she clenches on the small paper box on her knees. The birds are alive the last time they checked. But one of them has blood on the wing.

Without a word, Hannibal takes Marissa’s left hand up and unbuttons her sleeve, revealing her bruise covered forearm.

‘You are in no condition of anything but getting treatment, Miss Schurr. Don’t worried about your birds. Abigail and I will take them to the vet and make sure the rest of your birds settled.’ With that, Hannibal steps away and pulls out his phone, calling for an ambulance.

‘I’m sorry.’ Marissa lifts her purple face and says forcibly. Abigail feels anger suddenly punches onto her stomach.

‘What for? You’re the last person who should be sorry. I only regret that I didn’t get there sooner and break more-’ she spites but is quickly stopped by the lawyer.

‘Mrs. Lecter,’ he grabs on Abigail’s arm. Abigail looks at him with surprised. Yet the man’s stern expression tells her it’s better not to argue with him. ‘Now is not the place or time.’

‘Right,’ she mutters, going to stand beside Marissa. Marissa keeps her head down. Her hands no longer clench to the box containing her birds. Abigail can tell she’s trying her best to sit still. So, she leans forward to take away the birds from Marissa’s knees just as Hannibal returns with two EMTs carrying a stretcher. Marissa doesn’t react when the birds are taken away. She doesn’t make a sound when one of the EMTs helps her to lie on the stretcher. Her shoulder flinches out of pain when she puts her weight on it. But apart from that, she is utterly quiet and mellow. Lifeless.

‘Should I?…I’ll go with her,’ she says, looking towards Hannibal but Hannibal shakes his head to her.

‘No, Abigail. Mr. Metclaf is going with her. Marissa had agreed to let him acquire a copy of her examination report.’

‘But-’ Abigail tries to talk back. Mr. Metcalf the lawyer is a stranger. 

‘We can take the birds to veterinarians on our way home,’ Hannibal gently takes her hand and begins to lead her away from the hallway. ‘Let Mr. Metcalf’s office take over from here, Abigail. You had done enough already.’ 

With his last words, Abigail feels her heart sink. She lowers her head and follows Hannibal into the parking lot, climbing into the car without a word. They drive to the nearest veterinarian clinic first. Then Hannibal drops her in the town for her to pick up her car. Abigail deliberately takes a different route. Hannibal seems to slow down a little when she suddenly turns to the other direction. Her hands sweat gripping the wheel. Tears blur her vision as she stares at the road in front of her. She feels her knees - or more accurately her entire body - shaking. She nearly misses the traffic light at a crossroads, panting violently as she slams on the brake. Ignoring the angry horns surrounding her, Abigail buries her face into her arms. She feels like a mess with sobs coming out of her like a broken record. The traffic light switches and she can hear others begin to move around her. Keeping her eyes straight, she steps on the accelerator. But not long after she realizes she had missed another two junctures leading home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are much slower than I expected. But don't worry. I'll bring it back on track as soon as I can.
> 
> BTW, _fractured tunica albuginea_ =broken penis. Abigail totally broke the guy's dick.


	5. Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abigail is scared that she's getting into troubles. Hannibal doesn't like how she handles the situation. Then things between them heat up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again. no beta-read. Apologize for the mistakes I made. 
> 
> **Still desperately want to find a beta. So...If you think the story is OK, please message me.
> 
> tumblr ID: abigailhobbscentric

‘Where have you been?’ Hannibal’s calm voice approaches her as Abigail finally - after another half an hour of meaningless wander on the road- stalks into the kitchen. She doesn’t know how to respond, only keeping her gaze down and mutters.

‘Sorry,’ she manages to say, trying her best not to sound too miserable. But the way her good doctor immediately drops the knife in his hand and strides to her, pulling her into his arms without any hesitation only tells Abigail her being _miserable_ may be an understatement.

Frustrated. She can’t help but start to shed tears again. She hates being vulnerable in front of him.

‘My darling,’ cupping her face in his palms, Hannibal gently places his chin against Abigail’s forehead. ‘Shhh…,’ he coos. Abigail bites her lip, trying not to shake too hard against his firm chest. Her tears dampen his maroon-colored sweater. She wants to stop, wants to tell Hannibal how she’s fine and he doesn’t need to worry, only to find that her voice is once again taken by the gulping sobs.

‘Come here, Abigail,’ with a gentle nudge, Hannibal guides her to the sofa at the corner and sits her down. Abigail falls into the cushioned seat. Her hands and face are wet. Hannibal’s firm grips land on her shoulders. She looks up. Her eyes bore into his.

‘I’m sorry,’ she says. ‘I didn’t…I’ve never wanted to get into trouble. I was just…’

‘I know that, my sweet. I know,’ Hannibal says quietly, slowing kneeling down before her to dry her face with his pocket square. ‘And don’t you worry,’ he sighs, looking away for a bit. Abigail feels her heart sink. She rarely sees Hannibal looking away from her. She knows he only does it when he’s trying to find words when he’s unpleased and trying to collect himself.

‘What will happen? If I’m charged with assault, then the jobs I’d applied-’

‘You’re not going to be charged,’ Hannibal interrupts her, palming her face within his hands. He swallows. Abigail can tell he’s holding back something.

‘You were defending your friend, Abigail,’ he lets go of a long breath and diverts her eyes. Abigail senses her heart suddenly begin to pound. 

‘Mr. Meltcalf had called before you got home. He sounds very confident that given the dash cam recording from your car and Marissa’s injury report, he and his colleague can persuade the man to withdraw the charge against you. Now. Try not to be so fretful, my darling,’ Hannibal says as he caresses her face and stands up. ‘Why don’t you go upstairs to rest while I’m making lunch? You hardly slept last night.’

Abigail can only blink.

‘Can I stay and help?’ she hisses, looking at Hannibal as he goes back behind the counter. ‘ I don’t…’ _I don’t want to be alone._ ‘I don’t…feel very well. I don’t think I’m able to rest.’

He doesn’t answer straight away. Abigail twists the kerchief in her hands. 

‘Alright then,’ slowly, Hannibal moves to the other side of the counter and pulls out another chopping broad. ‘Would you slice some tomatoes and chop the ginger?’

Abigail nods, rushing to the sink to wash her hands. She doesn’t look up when she walks pass Hannibal. Focusing on her chopping broad, she fiddles with the slippery skin of the tomatoes, carefully slicing one of them open. Red, sticky juices all over her fingers. She stares at it for another moment before she turns to grab the ginger beside. Her knuckles feel somehow swollen. Abigail moves her hand for a few times, wondering if the discomfort is caused by the event last night when she tried to pull Marissa up from the pavement and run. Marissa was still talking when Abigail tried to drag her away…

‘Ouch!’ suddenly she gasps, dropping the knife to the floor. Red liquid wooing from the tip of her index finger. She then hears another sigh. Before she can bend to find the knife Hannibal already picks it up and produces a first-aid kit under the counter. 

‘Careless girl,’ he chides as he takes her hand to examine her wound. ‘Put pressure on it.’

‘It’s just a nick,’ Abigail whispers, staring at her own blood dripping down into the kitchen sink. Hannibal’s breath sounds a little bit heavier as he pours the saline onto her hand. Abigail looks up at him. His expression is stern, unreadable. 

‘I’m sorry,’ she says. 

Hannibal doesn’t make a sound when he reaches to the tincture in the box. After a few drops of the dark mixture onto her broken skin, Abigail hears him let out a light breath.

‘Abigail,’ he says, stopping to make her look up at him. ‘I thought I should wait until later to ask this. But,’ he pauses, dropping more of the iodine onto her wound. It stings. But Abigail remains silent, looking at him he begins to unwrap a piece of band-aid.

‘What is it?’

Hannibal doesn’t answer. He holds her wounded hand and puts a piece of clean cotton to her fingertip. Abigail hears him sigh again. 

‘When you received Marissa’s call last night, why didn’t you wake me?’ he asks, placing the band-aid to her finger. Confused, Abigail narrows her eyes.

‘I…I didn’t think that’s…’ she utters. Her mind goes blank. Hannibal smiles weakly to her, hesitantly touching her shoulder.

‘You shouldn’t have gone out there by yourself, Abigail.’ Abigail sees his Adam’s apple twitch. ‘It could easily be both of you lying in the hospital, or worse. Why didn’t you wake me?’

‘It was late,’ she can only mutter. Hannibal raises his eyebrows.

‘Abigail-’ 

‘I thought it would be better not to bother you.’

‘Don’t you trust me?’ his words are soft, nearly a whisper. 

Abigail feels her eyes gone sore.

‘Of course, I do!’ she hisses, but it is clear that Hannibal isn’t convinced. ‘I was just…I didn’t occur to me that-’

‘Don’t lie, Abigail,’ he calmly stops her, reaching to cup her face between his palms, wiping away the tears. ‘Don’t lie to me. Just tell me what it is in your mind.’

Abigail can only stare back.

‘I…’she starts. But her voice fails her. So she tries again.

‘I didn’t want to wake you because I wasn’t sure you’d be pleased,’ she says, trying to break away eye contact with Hannibal but it’s nearly impossible when he’s touching both her cheeks.

Hannibal’s eyes seem to be darkened. 

‘I’m always willing to help you if you ask, Abigail.’ he says, stroking her hair as he gives her another handkerchief from his pocket. Abigail buries her face into it. 

‘I said that to you when we first met. The offer will always stand.’

‘But you don’t want me,’ she blurts out, only to realize the gravity of the words when she sees the look on Hannibal’s face. He looks…

_Oh no._

‘I…um…,’ Abigail stutters. She wants to apologize but that doesn’t feel right. Nothing can be right now. 

‘I should go…’ So, she withdraws and turns, feeling like a coward as she stumbles away, wishing she can just vaporize into the cool air so that no one is going to see her again.

‘Abigail,’ Hannibal calls her name behind her. The word is like a blade. It makes her want to run but her legs simply go paralyzed, rooting her on the spot.

‘What you’d just said, Abigail,’ he continues, ‘It is not true.’

 

 

Abigail never knows she can feel hot and cold at the same time.

‘What?’ she hears herself ask, tentatively turning her head to look at her husband. Her hand presses hard against her sides for she’s afraid she may fall over. She knows her cheeks are burning. It must look ridiculous because he is smiling as he comes close to her.It’s not every day she gets to see his pointed teeth.

Without saying a word, Abigail finds herself tiptoe and reaches to kiss him. On the lips. She expects him to hold back but is soon proven wrong. Hannibal slides his tongue past her teeth and Abigail gapes with surprise. She feels like she’s going to melt into his arms. Which is exactly what happens. For the next moment, she is carried up from the floor, bridal style, with her arms surrounding his neck. She keeps on kissing him, taking him in, tasting while Hannibal takes her back to the corner of the kitchen, putting her down on the sofa.

Kneeling before her, he breaks the kiss and looks into her eyes. His eyes are dark. Pupils dilating as he catching his breath. Abigail gingerly reaches to touch his lips, his face, then his hair. He feels unbelievably soft. She never dreams that his face can feel so soft with the high cheekbones. Oh, how she had yearned to feel those cheekbones under her touch. Abigail is completely mesmerized as Hannibal hovering above her, allowing her to explore by staying still and watching her fondly, only to stop her when she begins to tuck on his collar.

‘Abigail,’ he whispers, leaning forward to peck on her lips. ‘My darling, we must stop now,’ he says, grabbing both her hands and kiss on them. Abigail gives out a frustrating groan. She is still warm and blushing.

‘Why?’

‘I still need to cook,’ he answers. Abigail rolls her eyes and pouts. 

‘I’m not hungry.’

‘Neither am I. But I have patients in an hour. Abigail-’ he hums as Abigail pulls him own to steal another kiss. She loves how he tastes. 

‘Will you still want me after that?’ she murmurs, falling back onto the padded seat while dragging him with her. Hannibal growls. He is now pressing onto her between the arms of the sofa.

‘I’ve always wanted you,’ he whispers into her ear. Abigail chuckles. His breath is tickling her.

‘I don’t believe you,’ she giggles. Hannibal taps on her nose.

‘That’s most unfortunate,’ he says. ‘Suppose I need to make some efforts to convince you then.’ Placing another kiss on her neck, he stands and pulls Abigail up with him. Their eyes fix onto each other, Abigail can see her own reflexion in his eyes.

She feels absolutely blown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm looking forward to the next chapter to come!


	6. Darkness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal is very specific about how things must go between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally. This chapter took me ages.
> 
> Big thanks to my wonderful beta DWeber for reading through the story. I think my story becomes more readable because of him.

‘Close your eyes, Abigail. We do this my way.’ Hannibal’s velvet voice soothes into her ears. Abigail shivers against the love seat in the living room. Her hands are on her knees. She hesitates and looks at her husband next to her. His eyes are dark. His expression intense. Then she complies. 

‘Good girl,’ he whispers, giving her face a few gentle pecks. Goosebumps spread from the back of her neck to both her arms. She flutters as she senses Hannibal slowly, agonizingly slowly, moves his lips up and licks the shell of her ear. A gasp escapes her. Electricity runs through her whole body, making her arc from the cushioned back of the love seat.

‘Shhh…’ Hannibal gently pushes her back, stroking her waist with one hand as he reaches down to take off her red ballet flats. Abigail curls her toes, secretly relieved that she had managed to take a shower after she got back from her afternoon errand - going to see Marisa and bringing the rest of her birds here from her apartment. Now her bare feet are touching the cool wooden floor. It feels strange, revealing. The sensation only intensifies when Hannibal suddenly takes one of her feet into his hands, massaging her sole. Abigail yelps as his thumb presses onto a sore spot. She wants to draw her foot back. But Hannibal holds her ankle tightly.

‘Hannibal!’

‘Shhh…’he coos, sliding his fingertips along the base of her foot then to her ankle and her calf, pushing the flimsy fabric of her white full-length knitted dress up. Abigail gasps. Her hands grab the fine surface of the love seat. She wants to stand up, to open her eyes and…to do something. 

‘Hannibal,’ she pleads, still keeping her eyes shut while Hannibal takes her other foot and placing them both on his lap. She moans as he begins to rub them once again, throwing her head back against the arm of the couch. Her breath becomes short. Her body is warming up, starting from where he is touching. Abigail bites back another desperate groan as she feels her husband’s prying fingers reach the back of her knees. She immediately closes them on instinct. Then she hears Hannibal’s chuckle.

‘How are you feeling?’ he asks, one of his hands leaving her knees to caress her dress-covered thigh. Abigail hears herself whine, unable to bring herself to form a proper reply.

‘Should I stop?’ he inquires. Abigail feels his warm fingers touch her chin. She brushes her face against his palm, feeling like a needy cat.

‘No,’ she whispers to his hand. ‘Please…don't stop.’

‘Good girl,’ he hears Hannibal saying. Then suddenly, he leaves the chair.

 

 

‘Before we begin, you need to think this through, my sweet,’ Hannibal whispers to her ear as he carries her through the rooms and puts her down on a bed - _his bed_ \- and quickly peels off the knitted dress from her body. His sheets smell fresh and crispy, so smooth under her touch. Abigail gingerly leans back. She’s not wearing a bra. The room feels a little bit cold.

In only her cotton panties now, her limbs twitch as she listens to the sound of his movement. He is walking across the room, putting her dress away, it seems. She cannot be completely sure. This is the first time she has entered Hannibal’s bedroom.

‘Think what through?’ she asks, her voice is timid and she almost jolts from the bed when she suddenly feels his hand touching her face again. Using every ounce of her self-control to resist opening her eyes - oh, he’s sitting next to her now - Abigail kicks. Just a little. Hannibal shushes her with a peck on her nose.

‘I can be very particular when it comes to intimacy,’ he murmurs to her. Abigail feels her body warming up again. ‘I won’t hurt you. But you have to do as I say.’

‘Okay,’ she says, breathless.

‘Good,’ he praises, tracing a finger on her collarbone, Abigail arches to his touch. The uncertain suspense is going to kill her. 

‘Oh, and Abigail,’ he starts again, this time his palm is wandering to her breasts. Abigail has to clench her fist to not arch away from the bed.

‘Yes?’

‘I’ll never let you go once we start this.’ With that, he swiftly pulls her up into his arms and nips her breast. Abigail cries out, throwing her head back, held up by his arm across her shoulders. The moisture and warmth on her right nipple make the rest of her body ache for more. Her hand clenches on Hannibal’s shoulder, fingers scratching the fine fabric and the padding underneath. He’s still in his three-piece suit, for Christ’s sake! 

He appears to sense her awkwardness, and without any warning, her husband breaks his mouth from her breast and moves around her to press her back against his fully clothed chest, rolling her on her side to envelop her in his arms. His legs tuck behind her knees. Abigail blushes as she registers this is what people call spooning. She groans while Hannibal covers her left breast with his large hand and snakes his other hand down her torso, planting it right above the waistband of her panties. 

‘Tell me, my sweet…’ he croons into her ear, licking her earlobe to make her arch firmly into his embrace. ‘Have you ever touched yourself?’ He brushes gently on her lower abdomen. 

Abigail nods, craning as his lips go lower onto her jawline and her neck, too overwhelmed by the sensations to speak.

‘Show me,’ he quietly demands. Abigail squirms against him. 

‘But I…’ she starts, her right hand remaining unmoved. Hannibal resumes nipping the back of her ear again. The resounding noise of the kiss brings out another moan from her throat. Abigail cranes back to welcome the contact. ‘I’ve never…I never figure out how to do it right. I have tried but…’ she shivers when Hannibal suddenly bites on her jawline. 

‘Show me still,’ he says again. His hand grabs her wrist and places it on her lower belly. Abigail whimpers. Obediently, she pushes her hand past her waistband. Her fingers bury into the hair, then run circles on the sensitive flesh. It feels a lot wetter than usual.  Abigail isn’t sure if she likes it. She rubs herself a few more times, feeling her muscles tensing up. But she is soon distracted by another kiss on her cheek. She turns in his arms, trying to kiss him back.

‘I see,’ she hears him murmur. Her hand is still in her panties as she’s kissing him. Their tongues dance together then all of the sudden, Abigail finds herself being pushed back onto the mattress. She mewls. Hannibal takes her hand from her panties and starts suckling her fingers. Keeping her eyes shut, she feels completely exposed.

‘I’m going to give you a few instructions now,’ she hears Hannibal’s silky voice pouring down to her from above and he lets go of her hand. She cannot tell where he is. The lack of perception leaves her vulnerable.

‘Don’t look,’ he says, then she feels him descend to smack a kiss on her lips. Claiming.

“And whatever you do,’ he moves from her lips to trace kisses down her neck and continues to her collarbone. He bites on it for a while then suddenly seizes both of her wrists and pins them above her head. ‘Don’t move your hands,’ he says to her ear. The vibration of the words shudders down her spine. She moans, louder, this time.

‘Oh, and one more thing, Abigail,’ he adds. Now he’s nibbling her nipples. Abigail thinks she’s going to explode at any moment.

‘You can be as loud as you like.’

And with that, he moves to swiftly peel off her panties, spreads her legs, begins to kiss her inner thigh. 

 

 

The craziest part is that she knows exactly what he’s doing.

Abigail sobs as Hannibal’s lips leave her left femoral artery, tracing up to locate the exact bundle of nerves she knows is her clitoris. The very spot Abigail had read about online and learned about in her anatomy course but never bothered to find on herself. ( _'And I was the top 10% of the class?!’_ ) She never thought she’d actually need it. Oh, how wrong she had been.

With a particularly clear word of praise, Hannibal gives her clit a final smack of a kiss. Abigail cries out before she inhales sharply. Hannibal is turning his attention down to her perineum. She has to dig her fingers into the pillow and bury her face in it to stop herself from jerking up from the bed. But it is impossible anyway because Hannibal’s hands never cease holding her hips down in place. All she can do is to keep on breathing and let Hannibal take her to yet another thrilling height. Heights she did not know she could possibly reach. It feels like drowning. It feels like flying. It feels like falling off a cliff. But what’s most maddening is that she can almost see the obscene image they make in the back of her mind, with her as nude as the day she was born and him still wearing his cod grey suit jacket.

‘Hannibal,’ Abigail wheezes, stuttering between each short breath as she tries to kick and move away from his firm grip. ‘Hannibal! Please…please! can you slow down a li-’

She doesn’t get to finish. The next thing she knows Hannibal slides a finger up to press past her vulva. Abigail screams as she feels the wet sound quiver straight into her core. Her muscles tense up while the center of her lower belly explodes. Tender warmth creeps up her spines and then expands to her entire body. Flushing and panting, she snaps her eyes open as she begins to see stars, panicked. For a split second, it feels like she is back on the porch of her father’s house being watched by a million eyes from the sky. Letting out a muffled cry. She calls her husband's name. She hasn’t looked up at the sky at night since she moved to Baltimore. 

The gentle rhythm of Hannibal’s thrusting fingers remains unchanged when Abigail slowly braces her upper body up and sees her husband’s tilting head. He seems to be smiling. Abigail isn’t sure. A few more shivers of pleasure are drawn out of her as his tongue glides over her clit. She falls back on the pillow, feeling him slowly withdraw his fingers. 

‘My sweet girl,’ he murmurs, crawling up to kiss her deeply. Abigail flinches a little at the taste of her own fluid. She doesn’t dislike it. But she cannot handle any more stimulation. ‘You disobey me,’ he says. Abigail cannot tell if he’s pleased from his voice.

‘Sorry,’ she whispers, burying her face in his clothed chest and curling up in his arms as they roll on their sides. A single drop of tear sheds from the corner of her eye.

‘No. You did incredibly well,’ he croons, lifting her face to look in her eyes. Then he becomes concerned. ‘I pushed you too hard.’

‘I’m fine. Really, I’m just…’ she swallows. Hannibal wipes away a falling tear from her face. Abigail leans forward to nuzzle into his shoulder. She stares at the interior of his bedroom. Blue, warm and spacious. It feels secure.

‘Abigail,’ she hears him call her. He’s stroking her hair now.

‘It was amazing. I just suddenly got emotional afterward. But it was so nice…like…swimming in warm soup,’ she says. Her leg accidentally brushes his tightened trousers. 

‘I’m glad to hear that,’ he nudges her onto her back and press on top of her. They trade a few deep kisses. His restrained erection presses on her thigh. Abigail hums. She likes this, being anchored, fixed in place, and most importantly, safe. 

‘Promise me,’ she starts, breaking the kiss. Her husband’s face is only inches away. 

‘Promise me you’ll never let me go. Please?’ she pleads, looking into his eyes and failing to find her own reflection. In the next moment, her husband leans down to kiss her on the cheek.

‘I promise.’

 


	7. Choupinette

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is obvious that they aren't done with the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DWeber helped to revise the chapter add gave me plenty of helpful advice. All mistakes are still on me tho.

‘I want to be on top.’ Abigail murmurs to her husband’s ear. She is trapped beneath him, with her arms around his neck and legs around his clothed waist. It makes her feels bold. 

Running her fingers through his now splayed hair and kissing him deeply, she smiles as she registers that he looks like a Greek god with small locks of golden brown hair hanging loosely on his forehead. 

‘That’s certainly doable,’ Hannibal whispers, giving her a peck on the cheek and rolling her up from the bed. Abigail giggles as she lands on his chest, remaining prone. Their lips meet for another long and sloppy kiss. She gasps slightly and closes her eyes. Hannibal’s wandering mouth is tracing along her jawline to the back of the ear. Tickling shivers almost make her faint.

‘Stop,’ weakly, she protests and turns to shy away from his lips. ‘I can’t think when you kiss me like this.’ Then she hears Hannibal chuckle. 

‘Good,’ he says, placing another peck on her earlobe. Abigail pouts as an uncontrollable growl escapes her. She doesn’t like what she sees. Hannibal is altogether too pleased with himself. 

And overdressed.

With a swift movement, she pushes herself up to sit back onto the mattress, grabbing his necktie to pull him up with her. Hannibal grins. His pointed teeth make her heart skip. Abigail widens her eyes when she sees his suit. Always so meticulously maintained, it is now covered with creases and - _oh, how could she not notice that earlier?_ \- stains from her wetness. She stares at the damp patches on Hannibal’s trousers and jacket while feeling her cheeks burning up. This is so embarrassing. 

So, she resumes plucking at his tie, trying to take it off. Hannibal grunts a little, suddenly snatching her wrist. 

‘You’re strangling me,’ he says, giving her a _look_ and then he loosening the necktie for her. He lets her pull it off his neck. Abigail smiles at the feeling of the dark red silk sliding along her hands. Finally taking it off, she isn’t sure what to do with it. Hannibal smirks and rises from the bed to slip out of his suit jacket and waistcoat, setting them aside and taking the necktie from Abigail to place it on top of the same pile. Abigail’s eyes fix on his suspenders and clothed chest, wrapped in the crisp, white, dress shirt. It’s not every day she can see his chest muscles flexing under the thin fabric so close up. 

She remembers the first day when he sat down next to her on the padded piano bench to show her the fingering on the keyboard. It was the first time Abigail realized that her husband, despite his gentle poise and refined manners, was actually very fit. She remembers the tug in her stomach when she tried to stay focused sitting beside him. She only dared to steal a few glances when she thought he wouldn’t notice in those early days. Oh, how things have changed. 

Now, she wants to make this last. She wants to _explore._

Brushing her hands slowly down to his waist to push him on his back, she leans in to straddle his lap and kiss his neck. Her fingers work on his shirt buttons. Hannibal groans satisfyingly and holds her naked form against him. His slender hands roam on her back. Touching, caressing, tickling her sensitive skin before one of them ghosts down to fondle her arse as she finishes opening his shirt. Abigail smiles as she feels him palming heavily over her butt cheeks and yelps as his hand pokes down between her legs. Before she can flinch away in surprise, a finger strokes its way into her, so much deeper than earlier. It takes her breath away.

‘Hannibal,’ Abigail gasps, looking up at him pleadingly, yet she isn’t entirely sure what she wants. He bores his eyes into hers and begins to thrust. The pad of his fingertip hits a particularly sore - _or is it sweet?_ \- spot. She can’t help but squirm. She hears him chuckle again. Gradually, he hastens his ministrations. With another slick sound, he adds another finger into her. Abigail cries out, holding herself still. She feels full.

‘Are you quite alright, my darling?’ he asks, stroking her hair with his other hand. Abigail can hear the mirth in his voice. She pants loudly, trying to catch her breath, her face rubbing against his hairy chest. Closing her eyes when he moves, his fingers fill her like a cork in bottle, fitting and stretching. It is a surprise that he can still be inside her without causing pain.

She doesn’t dare to move. Lying still and taking what he’s giving, Abigail starts to moan as waves and waves of pleasure pour down to her like a summer rain shower. The obscene sound of her wetness resounds in the spacious room. Hannibal pats and stroke her hair and her nape as he continues to work inside her. With another twist, she sobs. The lust and neediness in her voice make her flush even more feverish.

‘You’re unbelievable,’ he whispers against her head as he withdraws his hand. Abigail bites down a groan at the emptiness, then sees him bringing his finger to his mouth, sampling her sticky wetness. Sharp scent invades her nose. 

‘Your _cunt_ is so soft and tight at the same time,’ Hannibal states flatly as he suddenly holds her waist to push his fingers back inside her. Abigail throws back her head. Her body is shaking. She doesn’t know which is more shocking, the burst of pleasure he coaxes from her…or the profanity she’s never known he is capable of. With a weak moan, all of a sudden Abigail finds herself being gently pushed on her back. She must have already pushed his suspenders and shirt off his shoulders because now he is unfastening his trousers. She gasps sharply once she sees his tented boxers freed from the trousers’ fly. Only now it occurs to her that this is the first time she has seen an aroused man in her twenty-two years of life.

She is absolutely mesmerized.

Hannibal appears to be oblivious to her fascination. He hesitates when Abigail hastens to sit up, looking at her face.

‘I want to see,’ she says. Her voice is louder than she intended. Before she knows it her fingers are already in his waistband to tug the shorts down. She breathes deeply as his fully erect member is revealed to her. Biting her lip, Abigail has to swallow hard. He is bigger than she expected. The material of the boxers is more strained than it looks.

And he smells clean.

Sliding her thumb over his head, Abigail grins as Hannibal suddenly makes a restrained hum. She wraps both hands around his velvet skin and begins to stroke. Another groan escapes him. Abigail feels her grin grow broader as she sees a small bead of moisture beginning to leak. Without a word, she leans down to take him in her mouth. A sharp hiss bursts through his lips. 

‘Abigail,’ he mutters, large hands cupping her cheeks, trying to pry her away. Abigail hums deliberately, taking him deeper with her hands holding both the base of his cock and his balls. She loves the thick and heavy scent that radiates from his skin. Closing her eyes, she forces her mouth to be hollow and takes another inch down her throat, only to almost be choked as her nose brushes at his pubic hair.

‘That’s enough,’ Hannibal says, voice almost a whisper. Slowly, he nudges her to lay her head back on the pillow and crawls to settle between her thighs, covering her body completely. Abigail whimpers as she feels herself being thoroughly enveloped by his larger frame with the head of his hard prick pushing against her folds. Hannibal nuzzles his nose into her neck. The tickles bring out another small cry out of her. Arms circling his shoulders, she knowingly plants her feet on the bed sheet to prevent her legs from closing.

‘Can I…can I be on top when we do this?’ she asks, her chest heaving with excitement. Hannibal seems to be surprised by the request. Bracing himself up on the elbows, he looks down at her. 

‘I don’t think that’s wise, darling,’ he speaks quietly. His tongue darts out to lick her parted lips. Abigail cries out as she feels his hard shaft give her a small poke. The warmth of his body makes her lower belly twitch. Tentatively, she squeezes her inner muscle. It feels achingly slick, wanting. 

‘But-’

‘Do as I say, my sweet,’ he says, giving her another kiss beside her ear. ‘You’ll thank me later.’ Abigail can only moan with pleasure.

Sensing her compliance, Hannibal returns her mouth to kiss her deeply, hands moving to spread her knees wider before he breaks the kiss to croon beside her ear.

‘Slow or fast?’ he asks. His husky voice makes her thighs clench. Staring at the Prussian blue ceiling, Abigail involuntarily bucks up her hips as Hannibal smoothly takes her hands and raises them above her head, locking their fingers.

‘Fast,’ she answers, smiling while seeing her husband grins like a Cheshire cat.

‘Good girl,’ she hears him hum. His lips land on her eyelids, making her blind. Then, with a soundless shift on the mattress, he thrusts deep inside her.

 

 

Her mind goes blank when she feels Hannibal’s pubic bone hit against hers. It hurts. _One, two, three, breathe..._ She tells herself to relax. But it isn’t really necessary. Because the mild pain between her legs only makes her inner walls throb, urging her hips to roll up. Crying out coarsely, Abigail is startled by another shock of burn. She grinds herself against him, pleasure-pain making her press the back of her head into the pillow, panting.

‘Hannibal’ she gasps. Her husband remains unmoving with his full hardness rooted inside her. Clenching her hands, their locked fingers tighten. The uncomfortable pressure on her knuckles cannot ease the painful craving building inside. Her inner wall is sore rubbing his stiff prick. But it hardly matters. She needs more. 

‘Hannibal…please…’

‘Shhh…’ he leans in to kiss on her forehead. The touch is so light. Too light. Abigail almost screams with disappointment when he simply lets go of her hands to cradle her face for another soft kiss. This is maddening. She wants to smack him in the face. The gentle treatment is driving her insane.

‘Please…’ averting his lips, Abigail grabs on his hair to look him in the eyes. There seems to be a fainted smirk on his face. She’s practically kicking when she hears herself whisper…

‘Just… _fuck me._ ’

She knows she’d chosen the wrong language the moment it escaped her mouth. 

Nimbly, Hannibal lifts up her backside to inch further into her. Abigail squeaks with the change of angle, then cries out as he suddenly begins to snap his hips. She cries and cries, shutting her eyes to take in the indescribable mixture of burns and thrills. She can hear Hannibal’s low growl and the sound of him driving into her. It is fast but isn’t hard, just as she needs. Her cries turn into groans when she feels him tuck a pillow underneath her waist for support, to plunge into her more easily. Abigail yelps like a startled cat as he suddenly leans in and rests his forehead on hers. His pelvis is rubbing her clit at this angle. Unable to control herself, she rocks her bottom up to chase the pleasure, feeling it rapidly building up. 

Yet it doesn’t last. Gradually, she feels Hannibal slow down and carefully put his weight on her, his pubic still grinding her clit. Her own frustration suddenly burst.

‘Why do you stop?’ she whines, opening her eyes to feel Hannibal’s wisp brushing and blocking her sight.

‘Do you still want to be on top?’ he asks, the voice giving her goosebumps. Eagerly, Abigail nods. 

‘C’m on then,’ he rumbles, breaking away from her to sit against the headboard. Abigail gasps as she gets up and sees the dark blood stains on his groin, on the pillow, and on the sheet. It looks chaotic, almost like a crime scene.

‘I made a mess,’ she mutters, looking down at her lower belly and slightly alarmed to realize she’s still oozing. Burns and tinkling desire blend together as they leak. It is impossible to tell which is which.

‘ _We_ made a mess.’ Hannibal interrupts and holds up his hands to her. ‘Love-making is never neat and tidy, my darling.’ 

Hesitantly, Abigail takes them and parts her knees to straddle him, carefully easing his rock hard cock into her. The aching pleasure and dull pain intensify ten times as she fully settles herself. She cries out again, body falling forward to lay prone on him, sobbing and panting as each breath she takes triggers another wave of pain and pleasure. Hannibal wraps his arms around her and strokes her scalp with comforting words. Some of them are French. Usually, Abigail can understand most of his words but now she is simply too worn out. 

Staying still for a few moments, she hums as her body begins to tense around him on its own accord, rousing another surge of thrills inside her. Without a word, she straightens herself and begins to rock, and doesn’t care for the world that she is wailing. For a second, she feels her breath cut short as Hannibal catches the back of her head to kiss her. The more intimate contact on her clit brings another shock of bliss and she screams out, snatching his shoulders for leverage as she snaps her hips into him. Sweat breaks out from her skin just before the sorest spot inside her explodes, sticky fluid pouring through her channel as her limbs spasm. She hears Hannibal lets out a muffled grunt in a haze and, unexpectedly, rolling her up onto her back once again.

Unprepared for the change of position, Abigail braces her upper body up by her elbows but immediately flops back as Hannibal brings her legs up to rest on his shoulders. Still overstimulated from her orgasm, Abigail can only mewl and stare at him when he promptly starts to move. His hooded eyes never leave hers as he takes her fast and hard, kissing her calf once and awhile. Drowning in euphoria, Abigail goes silent as she gets lost in the sound of their coupling and the loving words he croons into the air. _Mon_ c _hou, choupette, ma choupinette_ , she picks up these last words before he finally stills and spills into her, too spent to make another sound.

Releasing her legs and lying down beside her, he reaches to touch her face. Neither of them is smiling. Both are too exhausted to move. Abigail listens to the sound of their steady breathing before she suddenly burst into a laugh.

‘Hmm?’ Hannibal raises his eyebrows, pulling her into his arms. Abigail grins against his neck.

‘You called me a cabbage before you came,’ she says, cheekily. Her husband seems to be confused for a moment before he chuckles.

‘Oh, Abigail,’ he gives forehead a small peck. ‘You understand French well enough to know I didn’t have a cabbage in mind when I said that.’

‘Yes, but…’ Abigail giggles. ‘I don’t think I’d mind. I like cabbage. So do you.’ She blinks. Hannibal grins as he rolls to be up top. _Ma choupinette,_ he whispers the words to her. Abigail feels the hair on the back of her neck standing up. Staring at him, she feels her pulse pounding in her ears. _I love you_ , she says to him, without making a sound. Her eyes become somehow moist when her lips make out the shapes. 

‘I love you too, Abigail,’ her husband murmurs against her lips.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Chou_ , _choupette_ , and _choupinette_ can all mean sweetheart or darling or...whatever sweet and cute thing you'd like to use on a person. But un chou also means a cabbage. An endearment derives from a vegetable, how lovely is that?


	8. Fantasies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day after. Things heat up again. And then an old shadow turns up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took me a bit longer to finish. I'd say that this is the calm before the storm.   
> My beta is the all so thoughtful DWeber. Any mistake is still on me.

‘I trust you slept well? Close the door behind you, please?’ Hannibal’s calm voice is the first thing Abigail hears the moment she steps into the living room. Embarrassingly, she smiles. It has already past midday and she had been asleep for the past twelve hours. Nevertheless, she is still beyond tired. She cannot recall exactly how last night had ended other than she was led to Hannibal’s bath while he busied himself changing the bedding. She must have passed out right after. For next thing she knew, she was waking up in an empty room, with fresh clothing - a red sundress - prepared for her on the bench by the bed.

‘Where did you sleep last night?’ she asks, still not feeling completely herself with aching muscles and a heavy head. Hannibal looks at her for a moment before he titters. 

‘Next to you. Where else would I be?’ he chuckles, holding out a hand to her from his seat. Abigail gladly takes it, turning a little to have his arm wrap around her as she sits down.

‘I don’t remember you coming to bed,’ she whispers. Her voice is still somehow hoarse. Hannibal laughs again as he tightens his arm so that she lifts her face up to look at him.

‘You don’t?’ he looks down at her, grinning so brightly that Abigail begins to think he’s teasing her.

‘What?’

‘You asked me to cuddle you and stroke your back,’ he says. Abigail simply stares. 

_‘_ That is _after_ I bathed you. Can you recall that?’ he asks. Abigail can only blink and try her best to look innocent. Hannibal lets out a laugh.

‘Oh, my sweet,’ shaking his head slightly, he sits up straight and nudges Abigail to sit up as well, placing a peck on her forehead. ‘Mr. Meltcalf had called,’ he waits until she is able to focus before he begins to talk. The lawyer’s name immediately makes Abigail tenses up. ‘I was going to wake you up but he kept it pretty brief.’

‘What did he say?’ she inquires, feeling her heart start to race.

‘The charge against you had been dropped. His secretary would have delivered the paperwork to you, but I told him we’ll stop by his office in person.’ he smiles, caressing her cheek. Abigail’s mouth drops open.

‘How?’ she hears herself asking. ‘What did Mr. Meltcalf do to make it go away. I mean…’ _I literally broke that man’s penis._

‘You’d need to ask Meltcalf’s staff for more details, I’m afraid. All I learned from the phone call is that the man had a prior record so Mr. Meltcalf convinced him that it’s more to his interest to withdraw the charge against you,’ he says while Abigail loosens herself and leans back to the seat. Her upper body slides right into Hannibal’s lap.

‘Phew,’ she says, grinning up at him. Hannibal dives his fingers into her hair but doesn’t smile back. 

‘I might have a confession to make,’ he says, his thumb rubbing her temple. Abigail narrows her gaze, confused.

‘What is it?’ she askes

‘I answered your phone earlier. I shouldn’t have done it but it was ringing and buzzing on your desk. And the birds were agitated,’ he says, pulling her up to sit in his lap. Abigail doesn’t reply. _Right, I’d forgotten the birds._

‘Who called me?’ she wonders. It’s not everyday she receives phone calls. Usually, her friends prefer to text.

‘The veterinary clinic. The two birds were ready to be released. They weren’t really injured, only the wings were covered in paper glue.’

‘Oh,’ Abigail doesn’t know what to say. _Paper glue? What a bastard, that guy._ ‘That’s good news, yeah? I can pick them up later after visiting Marissa. She’ll be relieved to know that they don’t have anything broken.’

‘I already collected them.’ Hannibal smiles. ‘You may see them on your desk.’

Abigail feels her mood brighten up. She quickly hops down from his lap and trots to her room. A small birdcage covered with a white sheet stands on the desk next to the curtained window. Lifting up a corner of the white cloth, the two purple-chested birds are huddled together, sleeping.

‘Poor things,’ she whispers to Hannibal who’s now leaning against the door frame. ‘Where are the other three birds? Where is the cage?’ she asks, carefully closing her bedroom door as they return to the living room. Hannibal gestures towards the window. That is when Abigail notices the windows that should usually be opened at this time of the day are all closed. She gapes with surprise as she sees the birdcage located on the large table next to the windowsill. The ceramic bust that usually occupies the spot had been removed.

Inside the large cage, there is nothing but dangling toys.

‘You let the birds out,’ she utters, blinking at the open gate. ‘Where are they?’

‘Somewhere…around here,’ Hannibal answers, indicating the whole spacious room. Abigail cannot believe her ears. She looks around and sees nothing.

‘How…are we going to get them back in the cage?’ she mumbled, trying her best not to sound panicked. ‘Are you sure they are still in here? I don’t see…’

Her husband looks at her for a moment and chuckles. ‘I thought you knew,’ he laughs, stepping towards the cage next to the window. ‘Come here,’ he summons her. Intrigued, Abigail walks towards him as he reaches for a red knitted pocket tied on the top of the cage and takes out a small silver bell. He casually rings it. Immediately, small noises begin to rustle from the ceiling and the top of the curtain. Two green birds fly down to stand on his hand.

‘They are very well-trained,’ he says, sending the birds to pass the cage door and handing her the bell.

‘I never saw Marissa put them in the cage, actually,’ Abigail mutters, examining the little bell between her fingers. There are Marissa’s initials engraved on the surface. ‘When I went to her apartment they were always all over the place. I had to be careful not to step or sit on them…Where is the other one?’ she asks, looking up to search around the ceiling and windows. Hannibal pauses for a moment, checking around the room before he reaches to take the bell from her and rings it again.

‘Listen,’ he instructs. Abigail holds her breath, trying to pick up the smallest sound in the room. But before she can react Hannibal walks past her to stand in front of a high cabinet. He swings the bell again, pointing at dark wooden boxes on the top. The muffled chirps inside (or it is behind?) the item suggests that the bird is trapped up there.

Abigail cannot withhold a titter. ‘How?’ she asks, unwilling to raise her voice. Hannibal simply shakes his head as he looks around the living room.

‘We need to take the box down. I don’t have a ladder here,’ he hums. Abigail’s eyes cast toward a small round table nearby.

‘I can step on _that_ to get it…’ she offers. But Hannibal doesn’t seem to be convinced.

‘I don’t think it’s safe,’ he says. ‘The table is more than a hundred years old, probably the oldest article in the house.’

‘Oh,’ Abigail pauses. She hasn’t noticed that rather plain piece of furniture before. ‘I can get my chair from my room,’ she mutters. There isn’t anything that can be moved easily in the living room.

‘Or I can lift you up so you may reach it,’ quietly, Hannibal proposes, ‘if you don’t mind.’

‘…Okay,’ Abigail nods, not entirely sure what she should do. So she moves to stand in front of the cabinet, looking up at the small black box on the top. The next thing she knows Hannibal takes ahold of her hips with his hands and lifts her up to place her weight on his left shoulder. Abigail bites her lip, resisting a squeak as she quickly grabs the box, eyes fixed on it until she is back on the floor. The bird is fluttering and chirruping inside. For a second she feels the lid is almost knocked open.

‘Don’t open it yet,’ Hannibal croons behind her, ‘Wait until it calms down.’

‘I still don’t understand how it got inside,’ glancing up to her husband, Abigail follows him to the birdcage by the window, gripping the box safely in her hands.

‘The lid probably wasn’t fully closed. Give it here,’ he takes over the box and places it next to the cage before slowly lifting the lid and pries a finger inside, stroking the bird’s head. The budgie lets out a somehow satisfying lilt, rubbing itself into Hannibal’s palm.

‘You really know how to handle birds,’ Abigail mumbles as Hannibal carefully urges the blue creature into the cage to join the others. It is then she sees their food has been refilled. ‘I wouldn’t know what to do if I was alone…’

‘It takes practice,’ Hannibal smiles to her, eyes fixed on the birds swinging on the colorful ladder. ‘I had two canaries as a boy. They were meant to be my sister’s but she was too young to look after anything. So they wound up with me.’ he says absent-mindedly. There isn’t much going on in his voice but Abigail feels herself tensing up upon mentioning his sister. She has only heard Hannibal talk about her a few times over the years. She knows it’s quite a touchy topic for him.

‘Well,’ she hears herself saying. ‘At least one of us knows what to do with them. I mean…when I brought them here yesterday I thought I only needed to refill their water and food…and clean the cage…’

Hannibal starts to laugh. ‘You were terrified when you heard I let them out of the cage.’

‘I was scared of accidentally killing them, yes,’ Abigail pouts at him. Hannibal simply smiles. 

‘Stop smiling.’

‘Or?’ he tilts his head. Abigail can’t help but punch on his shoulder, only to find her wrist being held in that large hand and pulled to be placed on his chest. She considers drawing her hand back yet the next moment she is encompassed within Hannibal’s circled arms.

‘Hmm…don’t you have afternoon appointments?’ she whispers against his neck. Her mind cannot fully register his movements with her senses so drawn to his scent. 

‘The one o’clock had been canceled. We have about two hours until three.’

‘Oh, nice,’ she whimpers, feeling his hand smoothly trace up to cup the back of her head, bringing her face close to his to nip on her forehead. She can feel him smiling as his other hand brushes down to press on her waist. Before she can stop herself, she is moaning uncontrollably with her hands clenching on his shirt and her hips being pushed back to the edge of the window side table. ‘Hannibal,’ she gasps. Her voice is weak with him now kissing the shell of her ear. ‘Hannibal, wait…’

‘Yes?’ he stops, stepping back to cradle her face in his hands. Abigail has to lean on the table to keep herself standing straight. She bores her eyes into his. Her heart pounds so violently she can hear her own pulse. 

‘Can we…um…can we go to my room?’ she implores, voice feeble, almost pathetic. Hannibal doesn’t make a sound, only looks into her eyes for a few moments before he wraps his arms around her to lead her out of the living room. He kisses her again in the hallway, hands laced in her hair to lift her face up towards him. Abigail almost loses her balance and falls back, which seems to be exactly what Hannibal has intended because he swiftly picks her up and places her over his left shoulder. She kicks a little, somewhat helplessly, as she is carried down the hall. He puts her down on the floor once they enter her bedroom, slamming the door shut.

‘Wait-’ she quickly hisses as she sees Hannibal turn to her, eyes darkened with lust. ‘Can you keep the door open? I…have this…um…this _dream_ …’

‘Dream?’ he inquires, swinging his hand to pull open the door while locking his eyes onto hers. ‘What dream?’

‘No…it’s not strictly speaking a dream.’ she stutters, losing her voice once again. She hates it. ‘I didn’t…I just used to imagine…’

‘A fantasy then?’ he concludes for her. Abigail can only stare up and swallow, squirming uncomfortably at his presence. ‘Tell me. What did you fantasize about, my darling?’ asks he, running his fingers through her hair. Abigail throws her head back, eyes closed. 

‘Sometimes at night I laid in bed imagining you come to me.’ she says quietly, too aware of how ludicrous it might sound to Hannibal’s ears. She has expected him to laugh or at least chuckle. But no. He simply pulls away to lift up the floral-patterned comforter, urging her to lay down before peeling off her slippers, tucking her into bed.

‘What else?’ he asks, kneeling next to her. Abigail feels all her blood suddenly rushes to her cheeks.

‘Not much. Just…you wouldn’t make much sound…You just open the door and leave it there…so that the only source of light is from the hallway.’ As she speaks Hannibal swiftly circles around the room to close the curtains. Before she knows it the room is as dark as night. Only the half-closed door lets out a single ray of mid-day light. Then he returns to her bedside, sitting next to her covered body and leaning in, claiming her lips.

‘Like this?’ he whispers as he breaks away, pushing the cover away and kicking off his shoes. 

‘Hmm…’ she can only make a small sound, feeling helpless in the dim light. One of his hands roams across her torso, tugging the shoulder straps down to undress her as the other quickly unbuttons his shirt. It must be somehow silly and chaotic because the next thing she knows the two of them are gasping violently while ripping each other’s clothes off. This isn’t part of her dream. This is so much better.

‘Does this still accord with your fantasy?’ Breathlessly, Hannibal asks. It isn’t entirely a question, for both of them are now completely naked and their hands are still seeking more flesh to explore. Abigail pants weakly as she notices his erection pressing between her legs. Her legs are spread and firmly pinned into the mattress.

‘No. Usually, I fell asleep before it got to this part,’ she hisses with a giggle, darting her tongue to lick on his neck. Her sudden initiation makes Hannibal flinch a little. With a suppressed growl, he leans forward to press himself into her. Abigail holds her breath bracing for the tingling friction. But to her surprise, there isn’t any pain this time, only the uncomfortable stretch.

‘Breathe, my sweet,’ Hannibal croons next to her ear. Abigail can only whimper softly as she feels her inner muscles clench and snug around him involuntarily. This isn’t the same as yesterday. She wants to close her legs around him before she is overwhelmed but Hannibal grips her knees tightly, keeping them spread on the bed as he grinds into her. With each stroke she can feel her sweet spot and the nerves above her entrance being hit and rubbed and kneaded, waves of shocks and pleasure rocking into her core and bones, threatening to tip her over the edge.

‘Hannibal,’ pitifully, she whines.’Hannibal, please. I want to…I want…UGH!’ suddenly, a scream escape her throat as her legs and arms twitch. Pleasure sparks deep inside her before it quickly fades away. With her head falling back and digging into her pillow, Abigail can’t help but arch up from the bed. Her legs are still held firmly down despite her best efforts to kick. ‘You’re such a bad man,’ she exclaims, the lower half of her body restrained under his strength. With a chuckle, Hannibal releases her knees and leans into her, resting his forehead against hers as he begins to thrust, hard and rough, almost mercilessly.

It’s not like she needs to be treated gently, either. Abigail smiles to herself as she hears her own voice moan and whine shamelessly while Hannibal’s passionate thrusts push her upward in the bed. Before long, she feels her head banging against the head board. Trapped between the wooden broad and her husband’s sturdy hips, she raises her arms to brace herself against the wooden board so that Hannibal doesn’t need to heed her head with his hips still working on her. But her effort is unnecessary for the next thing she knows, Hannibal simply laughs and slips out of her, pulling her down by her legs before he quickly crawling back. Ignoring her frustrated cries and her spread legs, he dives down only to kiss on her cheek and stroke her breast.

‘Why do you stop?’ she grunts, wrapping her legs around his waist. But there’s no way she can maneuver him back inside her in this position. She squirms and twists beneath him, trying to sit up but her body is securely held against the mattress. ‘Hannibal-’

‘Shh…’ her call is silenced by a shush that trails off. With a light brush, Hannibal softly grabs her hands and places each of them palms up next to her face. He then sits back onto his heels to look down at her, examining her with those stormy eyes. Abigail clenches her jaw as he reaches down to flick a lock of her hair off her face. She doesn’t dare to move, not with him so specifically manipulating her into this position. With a swift move, Hannibal stands up from the bed to pull her legs down once again so that they are closed and straight. Abigail can only breathe evenly and shallowly as he continues to scrutinize her from above like she is a piece of art waiting to be valued. She doesn’t know what to do.

‘You are so beautiful, Abigail,’ his velvet voice makes sure she is afloat on the drowning emotions. Kneeling back on the bed, Hannibal looks straight into her eyes as he hovers over her, one hand ghosting up her wrist to lace his fingers with hers, the other sliding down to her pubic bone to apply the gentlest, most maddening pressure to her most sensitive part. She almost jolts from the bed but his gaze keeps her down. Kneading little nips on the side of her neck, her husband makes no efforts to hold back all the muttering words. Words Abigail doesn’t even realize she can try to comprehend. She is just lost in the sensations. 

Feeling her eyes roll back before shutting them closed tightly, she opens her mouth for more air but it feels more like a silent scream. She curls her toes while feeling Hannibal’s breath move from her neck up to her ear. Her thighs, still firmly held together, start to twitch slightly with the tips of his fingers rubbing small circles against her clit. She yelps and hisses out loud, an outburst which startles her, before feeling the stickiness slowly oozing from her folds. Slowly opening her eyes, she blinks, seeing Hannibal’s darken maroons spark in the faint light. ‘You are like Aphrodite,’ he says, voice resounding in her skull. ‘Otherworldly, born out of foam from the warm sea,’ with each word, the finger touching her clit throbs. Abigail can hear herself moaning. The slick liquid between her legs continues to seep.

‘Balmy and soft,’ he seems to be oblivious to the pending explosion buried in her core. With another turn of his hand, he finds another angle to drive another shock wave through her spine. ‘Fresh and… _ready_ ,’ the last word rips through Abigail’s mind like fine paper cut into her skin. Gasping in a few sharp breaths, she begins to come. Her hips buck fiercely to his probing fingers as her legs spasm and her head jerks back. Pushing herself up with her elbows, she tries to evade his prying touch, only to have her lips caught by his feverish mouth. He bits on her lips, sucking her, marking her, before pressing her back into the bed with his fingers still kneading her clit, coaxing the last few surges of the aftershocks out of her. With a sloppy wet sound, he withdraws his fingers, holding them in front of Abigail’s face to have her look at the glittering moist she’s just created.

‘So wet, my darling,’ he murmurs. Abigail hums a little as he nudges her to sit up. Staring at the musky fluid soaking Hannibal’s fingers, she darts out her tongue to lick on her dry lips. Hannibal rubs his thumb on her cheek, admiring her flushed face. Without another word, she nimbly reaches to grab his wet fingers, biting and suckling them into her mouth. Her husband seems to be surprised by her action. Withdrawing his hand, he leans in to kiss her deeply before he promptly pulls her up onto her feet beside the bed. 

Leading her to stand in front of her cream-colored vanity, he steps away to draw open the curtains ‘I want to see you,’ he murmurs next to her ear, the husky and hoarse voice almost makes Abigail flinch.

Guiding her to bend over the creamy white furniture, Hannibal rests his face on her shoulder to kiss and lick her bare nape. Her hair falls apart on the back of her neck. Abigail’s knees weaken as ticklish sensations take over. Placing her chin on her forearms, she tentatively looks into the mirror. Her prone, pale figure is completely shadowed and dominated by Hannibal’s toned frame. Resting her forehead on her hands, she glances to her side. The dressing mirror by the wall catches the clear view of Hannibal’s full-blown hardness pressing against her, forcing past her folds and slowly disappearing. Abigail cries out on the burning friction. The angle is completely different from earlier. She didn’t know it would hurt this time.

‘Breathe,’ Hannibal’s warm chest rests on her back. His finger caresses her cheek. ‘Breathe, Abigail,’ he mutters against her ear. But Abigail can only stare at the mirror to her side, tears blurring her vision. Painfully, she sobs. ‘Please.’

‘Alright,’ he quickly wipes away her tears as he standing up straight to pull away. 

‘NO!’ Abigail cries out, still clenching her jaw as she throws back a hand to grab onto Hannibal’s arm, stopping him from drawing out entirely. ‘Don’t go! Just…’ she pants, slowly bracing herself up from the cold surface of her vanity. Gazing into the mirror, she catches his eyes in the reflection. ‘I’ll be better like this,’ she sobs, hand still gripping firmly at his arm.

‘Are you sure?’ breathlessly, he asks, leaning forwards to circle his arms tightly around her. Abigail rubs back into his warm embrace, letting out a satisfying gasp before she turns her head to kiss him on the lips.

‘Can we come together this time?’ she asks with a smile, pushing her hips back to chase the tingling sensation. The burn has begun to fade. She moans softly as she feels Hannibal slowly pushing his hard cock back inside her. He doesn’t answer her question, simply brushing his face closer to invade her mouth and beginning to move steadily. Abigail hears herself moan into his mouth as she detects a hint of the metallic scent of blood in the air. Her inner walls tighten around him of their own accord. Dull pain tears through her center as she breaks the kiss and winces, panting yet continues to push her hips to meet her husband’s forceful thrust. ‘Harder,’ she demands. Sweat bursts through her skin as her head snaps back against his shoulder. She is close. So close. The throbbing stings around her entrance only intensify the lurking pleasure hidden right above where the head of Hannibal’s cock is hitting. 

Glaring into the mirror, Abigail smirks at her own angry image. Her face is flushed and her breath is becoming short. Next to her face, Hannibal is growling like a provoked beast. His canines look sharp and _dangerous_ with his increasing strength and speed. The slapping sound of their skin hitting together should have made Abigail abashed or at least embarrassed. But no. She is too focused on the abandoned look on Hannibal’s face to notice that he had secretly moved a hand to the back of her head to grab on her hair, exposing her neck even further and bites down on her pulse point, sending a delicious sting down her torso with his other hand cupping her sex. Shocked by the painful and sudden pleasure, Abigail screams and screams as she feels her feet weakened and her core explodes. She cannot tell how long it lasts, only that she is still coming when Hannibal bends her down on the table to frenziedly fuck into her. She tries to push herself up but her limbs cannot be fully controlled when he suddenly presses down on her back. His hips still as he chokes on a muffled word. A word she later registers to be her name. 

Shaking and gulping for air, slowly Abigail pushes herself up from the table and finds herself once again being wrapped tightly in Hannibal’s arms. She rests her head on his shoulder, feeling safe and secured under his warmth. ’Remarkable girl,’ he whispers, voice somehow weaker than usual. ‘What had you done to me, Abigail?’ he asks. But they both know it isn’t really a question. Looking down at her bare form, Abigail gasps as she sees blood mixing with semen and her own fluid seeping down her thighs. Turning to face her husband, she blinks several times as she takes in his sated expression. Never in her five years of living together has she ever seen him in a state so…gratified…almost vulnerable.

‘What had I done, then?’ challenging, she tilts up her face and asks. Hannibal chuckles softly before seizing her cheeks to draw her close. He breathes against her face, allowing her to feel how fluttered he is, then draws her in for a slow smooch. Through lidded eyes, Abigail takes in the clutter on the floor and bed. The midday sun seems to become brighter as minutes go by. Throwing her arms around Hannibal’s shoulders, she then glances toward her writing desk. The notification light on her phone flashes steadily with the ticking clock on the wall. The room is getting chilly.

 

 

They shower in silence, quickly and efficiently washing each other’s hair. Under the spraying water Hannibal examines the small bruises he left on her lip and neck, telling her he can give her ointment later but Abigail says she’d rather cover them with makeup instead. He then draws her a bath which she doesn’t feel is entirely necessary. But Hannibal insists, saying that it can at least subside the fingermarks he made on her arms. It is then Abigail notices that she does indeed look thoroughly _screwed_. Inwardly, it makes her smile. What makes her even more satisfied is when she catches glimpse of her husband’s upper back, covered with scratches from earlier and last night. She can’t help giggling while splashing down into the water. The day cannot get even better.

Then, a sharp chime comes through the bathroom door. Her phone starts buzzing on the desk.

‘Oh, no…’she grumbles in the water, looking to Hannibal who has already dried up and wrapped a clean towel around his waist. ‘Can you answer it? I don’t want the phone in here. Too steamy.’

‘Of course,’ Hannibal answers with a smile, gracefully slipping out of the door to catch the noisy device before it falls to the floor. Abigail sinks herself below the water once again. She isn’t sure how to feel about the untimely call. _Who on earth calls people directly these days?_ Yet, that being said, she still pricks her ears up and tries to make out what Hannibal is talking about on her phone with that unknown caller. He sounds oddly delighted. _Thank you very much. I’ll let her know_.

‘Who was it?’ she asks, sitting up in the bathtub as Hannibal approaching the bathroom.

‘I’ll tell you when you finish,’ he answers mildly, a smile - or is it a smirk? - hanging on the corner of his lips. Abigail cannot help but pout. 

‘Well, I’m finished now,’ she kicks slightly in the water, making a small splash while getting out of the bath. Hannibal chuckles a little, holding up her bathrobe for her to slip in. Her hair is soaking through the soft material. But she doesn’t actually care. She wants to know.

‘Who called me?’ she asks again, trying not to puff her cheeks but that is exactly what she’s doing. It feels stupid. And it looks stupid, too, as she’d learned long ago. Hannibal seems to be amused. 

‘Why don’t you check your e-mail, first?’ he suggests. This time Abigail is really suspicious. Quickly leaving the bathroom, she rushes toward her phone lying on the desk next to the covered birdcage. Tapping the screen open, she stares at the unknown number which just called her. It doesn’t ring a bell so she goes for the e-mail. At the top of the inbox, a title of a familiar institutional name darts into her eyes.

_…Our team is pleased to offer you the position of Research Assistant._

_Your skills and experience will be an ideal fit in the Institute of…_

‘Oh my God…’ Abigail hears herself muttering, blinking and sliding the page back and forth. She cannot believe her eyes. ‘How…I thought they don’t hire new graduates,’ gaping and looking up from the screen, she stares at the man who is beaming at her. ‘Did you talk to someone?’ 

The question brings a grin out of him. ‘What?’ he laughs, coming forwards to cup her face in his palms. ‘I’m a psychiatrist and a one-time ER surgeon, Abigail. I’m not the _Pope_.’

‘You are sure? Because sometimes I feel you are like one,’ she giggles. Hannibal gently pinches her cheek, eyeing down at her disapprovingly with a small huff. Such a reaction triggers another stir of laughter out of her. Snuggling into his embrace, she rests her face on his shoulder, hands wandering on his bare back toward the towel around his waist. ‘Hm…We still have time, don’t we?’ she murmurs, knowing it is merely wishful thinking. But she won’t mind having a few more moments to be close to him.

‘No, we don’t,’ but as expected, Hannibal disagrees. He lets out a sigh as she continues to lean in and rub herself into him, making noises which can only be associated with some spoiled child. It doesn’t seem to bother the doctor too much. As he decides not to stop her until Abigail pushes one of her legs between his.

‘Abigail,’ he sighs, softly but firmly stops her by seizing her shoulders. But it doesn’t prevent her from feeling the hardening member under the cotton fabric. ‘You may fail to notice. But I’m in fact a middle-aged man,’ he says, looking into her eyes, expressionless. But Abigail can see mirth lurks behind his gaze. ‘Besides, we have duties to attend to.’

‘Right,’ she replies, pouting a little as she tiptoes up to lay a kiss on his lips before pulling away in search for the blow dryer. ‘Duty first,’ she mutters, knowing how much Hannibal values his work. ‘I’ll see you later then?’ she asks, sitting down in front of her vanity while her husband’s toned form closes up to her in the mirror, bending down to place a peck on her wet hair.

‘Later, my sweet.’ With a smile, he soundlessly steps out of her bedroom after closing the door behind him. Abigail lets out a long breath and a broad smile as soon as she hears the door click shut. Immediately, she pushes the bathrobe off her shoulders to look closer at the marks she’d gotten. She raises both of her arms and turns in front of the mirror. Hannibal really knows how to be the perfect lover. None of the marks he left cannot be covered by her usual clothes - apart from the bruises on her lip and neck. Turning on her usual daytime music - a playlist that starts with Debussy’s _Clair de Lune_ followed with dozens of the impressionist’s finest, Abigail sighs as she begins to put on her underwear. Her lingerie was all purchased for utility. The sport bras and boyshorts she owns simply don’t speak anything of a _married woman_. 

_But what should a married woman’s wardrobe look like?_ She finds herself laughing at such a notion as she continues to get dressed. A pair of simple jeans and black T-shirt should serve her purpose for the day well enough. Switching on the blowdryer, Abigail cannot stop herself from smiling upon the literal _bliss_ she had been granted within a day - the affection and passion from her husband and the impossible job offer. Never in her wildest dreams, could she believe such good fortune could happen to her within a day.

It feels like she can weather anything.

She quickly tidies up her room as she finishes drying her hair, promptly recalling the bruises on her neck and lip. Before leaving the room, she examines them in the mirror closely. But they are by no means noticeable to a passerby. Humming delightfully, Abigail waltzes to grab her phone as she sees the light is once again flashing. Glancing at the notification banner absent-mindedly, she is immediately taken aback and almost drops the phone as she collapses on the floor. 

It read: _G. Hobbs would like to become your friend_ , following by several incoming new messages.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to leave a comment or come talk to me on tumblr  
> Tumblr URL: https://abigailhobbscentric.tumblr.com/

**Author's Note:**

> I just made a new Abigail-centric blog on tumblr  
> Check it out  
> https://abigailhobbscentric.tumblr.com/


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